June 10, 2026

LET’S START with Gen X to Z, where my two sons belong accordingly, then forward or back to generation A. These generations, not by a long shot or measured by a trip to the moon and back, never had it so good.

If they could only travel back in time to witness our little piece of reality back in the early 70s, they’d see a black and white Zenith television set, with only three available TV stations.

In turn, they’ll pretty soon discover each station only offered a sad row of programs that lasted until twelve midnight (or earlier).

For us boys back then, if they or anyone told us the future already enjoyed cable technology and a 24-7 loop of endless shows, on what we then called the boob tube, we would have thought it was pure science fiction. We might even imagine the whole thing as still being in glorious black and white at that.

Every night, in the 60s, my younger brother and myself waited until each of the three TV stations had played the national anthem, which as many knew signaled the end of the day’s program schedule.

That was also the signal for the two of us to go upstairs of our Mabini apartment and join our younger brothers who had gone to sleep much earlier because they were, by hierarchy, younger.

After all, being in first and second years of high school, and older than they were, the two of us were proxy alphas. That meant, our two older siblings didn’t care much for TV and preferred late nights with friends at soirees and parties.

So, the living room was left to us two, and we lorded over it while we watched all the shows, from detective and horror, from Hitchcock to music shows like the Monkees and such.

Each ’70s night, despite school the next day, the two of us pretty much bled that old Zenith set dry, so to speak.

Then it happened during one particular closing time (on TV-13 I think it was).

It had been just right after the national anthem (where they showed the flag and the fuzzy snow that followed), when the TV screen slowly filled up again and began to show (it felt like only for the two of us) a full hour of comedy which featured The Jack Benny Show! For the poor younger sets, it was the forerunner of such classics as Mr. Bean and others.

Alas, millennials of today can actually relate to what we have felt at the time. You might have just finished watching a Marvel movie.

Then, just as you and your friends prepared to leave the movie house after the end credits, the cinema lights dim again and the screen brightens up to reveal a sneak preview of what’s to come or the next installment of the saga you have just watched. An extra treat indeed!

From that night on, until the time our family moved to the bajada mothership, whenever we watched TV and the station ID came on to end programming, we would calmly wait for a few minutes longer…and hoped that they would give us an extra helping. At that, we’d say to ourselves, “There might still be a Jack Benny.”

As for me, with those days long gone and my family finally free of TV at last, I still retain the idea of an extra treat waiting at every corner.

It has become my own little ray of hope during each end-of-the-day-programming kind of scenario or personal trial.

 The feeling is just simply like no other. The screen on your life, once darkened, is suddenly bright again to reveal a new show. Encore!